


we watch as our young hearts fade

by anonlymous



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst, Coping, Episode: s03e22 All Good Things..., F/F, Introspection, slight AU where Izzy and Clary were together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 15:58:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20099818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonlymous/pseuds/anonlymous
Summary: Clary Fray is like any other dreamy, aspirational, broke art student – except for the part where she can’t remember months of her life.





	we watch as our young hearts fade

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [sh_ficletinstruments](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/sh_ficletinstruments) collection. 

> Title from Waves by Dean Lewis. Set in a slight AU where Clary and Izzy were together. 
> 
> This is the first thing I've written for this fandom (and the first thing I've written or posted in years) so please be kind :)

Clary Fray is like any other dreamy, aspirational, broke art student – except for the part where she can’t remember months of her life. 

And the part where she woke in front of an abandoned church, stumbled to the nearest police station, and found out everyone she considered family was dead. And the part where her best work to date, an abstract piece in shades of blues and purples and grays, is of a place that she would bet her life is real, no matter what everyone else tells her. (She dreams of it too often, blood on her hands and sorrow deeper than the lake beside her and a flash of golden light, for it not to be real)

It’s not like art is her only coping mechanism. She gave up therapy months ago, she doesn’t befriend people the way she used to, but she deals. She draws, frantically and until her hand cramps, whenever a snippet of memory returns. She paints until the canvas is as clouded and confounding as her mind feels. She runs until her heart pounds and her body aches and she’s exhausted enough to forget. Forget the face of the officer who said her parents were dead, forget how she raced to Simon’s and found no one there, forget the months of therapists who called her dreams the result of brain trauma, forget the way memories dance around the edge of her mind and disappear when she tries to grasp them, forget all the things she does not know.

It’s on one of these runs she discovers something new: she is stronger than used to be. When she takes an unfortunate short-cut home and a man grabs her wrist, her first instinct isn’t to run or call for help; instead, she twists her arm until his is dislocated. 

(That night, she dreams of a voice saying _she did great right?_ and a girl teaching her to use a staff and a warm feeling that dissipates as she wakes)

It shouldn’t become a habit, but it does. And if she goes out running later than is advisable, if she visits alleys that aren’t safe, if she happens to go after a few muggers – well, she’s only saving people.

(In the back of her mind, she hears Jocelyn saying _all I ever wanted to do was protect you_, Simon saying _where you go I go_, thinks of how much they would hate this. But they aren’t here anymore, and Clary is)

But it turns out sometimes those people don’t need saving. Like the dark-haired beautiful girl who’s in front of her now, looking at Clary like she’s some kind of miracle. And suddenly, unconsciously, a name springs to mind. A name Clary must've said a thousand times, called out in the midst of battle, whispered while they lay in bed together, giggled between teasing and laughter, murmured like it was sacred, like some kind of prayer to the girl she loves: _Isabelle_.


End file.
